October 8, 2004

• about time
  and no-space
  and taking things
  literally

  It’s about time for me to start psyching myself up for another trip to
  town.  Yesterday was another Thursday that I didn’t go. 
  Jennifer, the alternate driver for the rehab van, had said she’d drive,
  so I stayed home.  I told Greyfox to let everyone know I’ll be
  there next week if I can, and what he told them was I’d be there to
  drive if I’m ambulatory.  It’s a commitment I intend to
  keep.  Ready or not, when next Wednesday or Thursday rolls around,
  there I go.  I’m not sure yet of the day because I may go in the
  day before to be sure of having a chance to get my tires changed
  over.  It’s time for studded snow tires again, too.

  I’ve had a few reasonably good days physically, but I blew that. 
  I made a tactical error, abandoned my strategy, and lost.  I had
  been pacing myself, sitting down whenever I felt I needed to. 
  Then the day before yesterday, late in the evening, I was nearly done
  with a dirty and somewhat strenuous job when the lead-in-the-butt
  sensation hit me.  Instead of taking a break, I told myself I’d
  just push on and finish that job then quit for the day.  Note to self:  remember to listen to the body. 
  These last two days I’ve been physically drained, and today I’ve been
  plagued by vertigo and visual deficits.  And I’ve got less than a
  week to get back in tune for the town trip.

  ---

  We’ve been talking about no-space here for a few days.  In my
  tidying up, sorting out, packing away and all, I’ve been stowing a few
  things in no-space, the places in or under or between other
  things.  A couple of days ago I accomplished such a feat of such
  magnitude that I had to crow about it to Doug.  I noticed, at the
  far end of a storage unit, a document box resting on a stack of other
  boxes at the end of the back closet behind Greyfox’s garment
  rack.  I’d situated it so that I could access it by sliding it out
  through one of the shelves of the storage unit.  There were a few
  inches of clearance between the top of that box and the bottom of the
  shelf above the shelf at its level.  I saw that if I took the
  document box out and put a box the right size under it on that stack of
  boxes back in that corner, I would have essentially used up no usable
  space.  I’d have stuck that “right-sized” box in no-space, in
  other words.

  I looked around and found a box the right size and shape,  about
  four inches tall, a foot and a fraction wide, and two to three feet
  long.  It didn’t take long to decide what to pack away in
  it.  It had to be something that wouldn’t suffer from the possible
  dampness back there, that wouldn’t be needed this winter, and that
  wasn’t more than three or four inches tall:  coffee
  mugs.   The shelves over the washer and dryer were
  overburdened with my mug collection, some of them stacked on top of
  others.  I got about fifteen or so of them into that box and
  shoved them into no-space.  Now I have room to collect more mugs!

  When I told Doug about my no-space accomplishment, he was
  inspired.  He’s started a humorous sci-fi story about a no-space
  drive system that shifts things into the realm of lost socks.  One
  of the plot devices in the story is an argyle storm.

  ---

  I’m sometimes painfully literal-minded, not to mention that annoying
  Virgo tendency to take things seriously.  None of that is as much
  of a social handicap to me as it was when I was younger, but it still
  bothers me sometimes.  That’s sorta how I keep it from being a
  social handicap:  I let it bother me instead of bothering everyone
  else with it — when I have that much presence of mind.  I told
  you guys that I was going to respond to some of your comments about
  George the wood guy, but maybe that’s not such a good idea.  Maybe
  you were not really serious.  Some of the things that have been
  said in comments here recently were absurd and if I come back at you as
  if I think you’re serious when you were joking, I’ll just be
  perpetrating an absurdity myself.

  And then there’s the business of boobs.

  I will stand by my statements concerning the dangers inherent in
  corsetry and “binding” in general.  Such things impede circulation
  and cause muscles to atrophy.  With that said, let me also say
  that although my own breasts are more like fried eggs than like melons,
  I do understand how  painful it is to have the things bouncing and
  flying out of control.  If I ever decided to ride a horse again,
  I’d get a jog bra.  I had melons for a couple of years twenty-some
  years ago when I was breastfeeding Doug.  The link in my sidebar
  about breast reduction surgery tells the story of a friend of mine
  whose breasts were so absurdly large that she couldn’t sleep on her
  tummy.  Another friend of mine has enormous breasts which she
  supports on a frame that’s less than five feet tall.  She hurts
  from it.  I’m one of the lucky ones because in most situations I
  don’t need a bra and the little bit of bounce I get when I walk feels
  goood.  If anyone can explain to me a good logical reason for
  breast implants, I’ll put a virtual gold star on the end of your pointy
  little nose.
  

  • 9:44 pm
  • 3 Comments